


Snible Studies

by NortheasternWind



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Family, Gen, Kids being cute, happy ending c:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:55:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23308711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NortheasternWind/pseuds/NortheasternWind
Summary: The snabies get their figurative hands on a bible, and are distressed at what they find.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 155
Collections: Wiggleverse





	Snible Studies

**Author's Note:**

> It's ass in the morning and I didn't use the AO3 posting script for this one, so I have no idea if the formatting and editing is flawless. Also I wrote this ages ago and never posted it, so there are so many quality disclaimers to make. There was a Recent IRL Event that has caused me to be seriously distracted from anything not IRL, so please do me a forgive and enjoy c:

Reading can be something of an ordeal when you’re six inches long and less than an inch wide.

Joshua is shaping up to be the strongest of them, so once the children agree on a book it’s his job to try and get it off the shelves. Of course, he is still only six inches long, so he can rarely do it himself: usually he gives it a token attempt and then asks for help, and they all do it together.

Most of Aziraphale’s books are of the doorstopper variety, which means they are quite large and heavy and only movable with the power of leverage. Once they’re flat on the ground, that’s it— which is rather a problem when the books land with the back cover facing up. Once in a while the children will take the time to flip all the way to the beginning, page by page, but usually they groan and cry in frustration for a few moments because sometimes it’s better to let yourself be angry and sad for a second, and then they move on to the next book on their list.

On their travels across the cavernous bookshop they call home, the snakelets have noticed some patterns in the types of books Azirafather likes to keep. There’s a section full of “First Editions” that they’re not allowed to touch, which is a shame, because that’s the section with the most variety— but it seems to be important to Azirafather, and they don’t wish to upset him, so they obey. But there are some books that he has an awful lot of: things by an author named Oscar Wilde, whom Father claims was a hateful person who said terrible things about others, and many, many books with the word “bible” in the title.

The dictionary is much too big for the children to tip over and read, so if they want to know what a bible is they really have no choice but to simply open and read one.

Unfortunately, many bibles are not that much lighter than a dictionary. The snakelets choose a lightweight one with a flexible cover, not merely easier to move but also less likely to be catastrophically damaged by their attempts to read it, and get to work.

* * *

There is hissy whispering at the edge of Aziraphale’s hearing.

It’s always hard to decide whether or not to prompt the children: they must learn to make decisions for themselves, of course, but they’re so young and small and sometimes it’s nice to know that people can tell when you need something. They sound… concerned, sad even, and that makes Aziraphale’s decision even harder. But they are busy discussing something among themselves, probably how best to approach Aziraphale with their concerns, and so he idly turns a page and resolves to let them figure it out on their own time.

“Azirafather?” Junior says finally, slithering across the floor with his siblings behind him.

Aziraphale removes his reading glasses, relieved. “Yes, my dear?”

Junior hesitates, which is particularly alarming, but Aziraphale manages to keep his expression mostly neutral.

“We read a book that said snakes are cursed because the first snake did something bad.”

Aziraphale’s stomach swoops in his gut. He has always been careful not to pick books with snakes as villains for their bedtime stories. But with the sheer number of bibles laying around the shop, it was almost inevitable that they would get their theoretical hands on one…

“Oh, my darlings,” he breathes, closing his book and bending down to offer his hands.

His children climb hurriedly into his palms, quick to take the comfort he offers, and Aziraphale lifts his hands so they’re sitting in his lap. They’re getting a little big for this, but he will keep it up for as long as he possibly can and probably after he can’t.

“I suppose you got into one of my bibles, yes?”

Junior tilts his little head. “Yes! What does bible mean? Is it a story?”

(Right now, a story is something that’s made-up. It’s clearly the children’s hope, that what they have read is something that didn’t actually happen. Aziraphale wishes it were that simple.)

“Of a sort,” he says, easier than he expected of himself. “Something like that did actually happen, you see, but— well, the person writing and telling the story wasn’t actually there. It’s not a very accurate telling of the story, is what I’m trying to say.”

A part of Aziraphale wishes Crowley were here to help. A greater part of him is thankful that the task of explaining falls to him, and him alone: Crowley still doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that his children love him, much less how that might interact with how he feels about being a demon.

“Was the first snake really so bad?” Eve asks quietly, shyly. “Did he really want to get the first humans in so much trouble that they died?”

And why then did you name me after one, is the unspoken question. Aziraphale can’t quite help the wistful smile he gives them then.

“Of course not, my darlings. Why, you’ve met the first snake in all the world yourself, and you love him very much, don’t you?”

Five little heads straighten up in surprise.

“Father?!” Scarlet cries.

“Father was the first snake? The oldest snake?”

“Father is so old!”

“I’m very old, too,” Aziraphale tells them, somehow irked by the thought that they might think Crowley older than he. ...Even though that is a very real possibility. “You read about the garden and the fruit tree, right? Well, I was the guard on duty at the time.”

“Really?!” five voices cry.

“Indeed I was. That was how we met, you know: your father snuck in under my guard and convinced Eve to eat the apple, and then we had a lovely conversation on the wall of the garden.”

Joshua wilted. “So it’s true? Father did something bad?”

“I— no, no, that’s not— He did convince the others to break a rule, yes,” he begins hastily. “But— well, what have we said are the different types of rules?”

“There’s rules to keep you safe,” Coco says. “And rules to be polite. And rules to keep other people safe. And rules you’re supposed to break because it’s a joke.”

“There’s a certain… subset of the second type of rule,” Aziraphale says. “Rules to be polite. But they’re not so much rules to be polite as rules to make things easier for the rule-maker. You see, it was much easier for God to take care of humans if they didn’t eat the fruit. Or at least, that’s what I think. But no one really knows why God said not to eat the fruit. God didn’t tell them what would happen, or even give a reason for why they shouldn’t eat it.”

The children look between each other, confused. Aziraphale and Crowley have always tried to give them a reason for their rules, so this was new to them.

“The apples on the tree give one the ability to tell the difference between right and wrong,” Aziraphale says. “Your father simply felt that… they should know what would happen, so they could make an informed decision. That’s why he told them about the apples.”

Most of the children sit quietly to digest this, but Anthony tilts his head. “Why is it bad for people to know the difference between right and wrong?”

Aziraphale swallows. “I… I don’t think it is, darling. But it seems that some people feel differently.”

That barely scratches the surface of why the tale of the apple is told the way it is, but Aziraphale is finding that he isn’t quite ready to tackle this so suddenly. He’d known they would have to address it someday, but so soon…

“So… Father didn’t do anything wrong?”

Aziraphale gives them a wan smile, and commits to his answer. “No, darlings.”

There is silence for a moment.

“...Is he okay?” Anthony asks.

And oh, Aziraphale had hoped, prayed that they hadn’t noticed, but… though Crowley has become better at accepting compliments and affection, it’s obvious to anyone who looks that he’s still uncomfortable with it. Feels himself undeserving of it. He puts on a brave face in front of the children, but they see more than they let on, and…

“He’s fine,” he answers, and it’s not even a lie. Compared to before the children’s unexpected arrival, Crowley is leagues happier. “He knows everything I’ve just told you, darlings. He wouldn’t want you to feel sad about it.”

Aziraphale can feel the well of grace he keeps to answer these questions failing him. The children look uneasily between themselves, as though they can sense that he doesn’t quite know what to tell them.

“You are good and pure,” Aziraphale goes on firmly, deciding to at least tell them that of which he has no doubt. “The story about snakes being bad is something people made up for themselves so they wouldn’t have to think about their choices. Each one of you is a delight and makes our world brighter and happier, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

To his relief, he feels them relax minutely in his hands. “Dark is cozy, though.”

Aziraphale smiles. “It is.”

“Azirafather,” Joshua says. “I have an idea.”

* * *

Crowley doesn’t mean to go out so often, he swears. It’s just that of the seven beings living in the bookshop he is currently the only one with both a car and a driver’s license, so whenever the snacks run out or the angel insists on getting something physically, with money instead of miracles, it’s Crowley who has to drive out and run all their errands. It doesn’t cut into his time too deeply, but once in a while he wonders what his children think.

Aziraphale had been there when they were born, and he hadn’t. He doesn’t mind the possibility that they might love the angel more— only the possibility that they might believe the angel loves them more, too. Crowley would die for his children, and the only reason he won’t is because they need him.

He pulls in across the street from the bookshop with yet another heat lamp— better to have too many than too few, with the children growing so quickly— and some cupcakes, one for each of his lovely family. The children probably won’t be able to finish theirs, but that’s alright: he’ll just have to keep them from giving themselves stomachaches.

“I’m home!” he sings, kicking the door open since he has no free hands. “You kids alright? Oooh, been into the books again, I see.”

There are books strewn over the floor, mostly the less valuable ones. Aziraphale prefers to help them get their hands on reading material, but sometimes they’re so eager and the angel so distracted that they take matters into their own non-existent hands first. Crowley works a couple fingers free so he can snap them and set the books to rights before proceeding into the back room.

“Helloooo—”

“Surprise!” a chorus of tiny voices cries, and with a little pop a shower of confetti rains down on Crowley’s head.

“Welcome home, dear,” Aziraphale greets, watching with obvious amusement as Crowley waves his full hands above his head to shield himself from the confetti.

“Huh?” is all he can manage while taking in the sight before him. There’s an apple pie sitting on a little table before him, and he knows it’s an apple pie because there are nine apples surrounding it, and five little snake children winding their way to the floor so they can slither toward him on their tiny bellies.

“It’s a party!”

“Because you’re a good snake!”

“And you taught everyone how to do the right thing!”

“They got into my bibles,” Aziraphale says, dropping Crowley’s heart into his stomach. The angel’s face is shaped in apology when next he looks up.

“Don’t let the writers say such mean things about you,” Scarlet says, reaching up to his legs in an attempt to climb his body. “I think it was a good thing you did with the apples.”

“We don’t need legs anyway,” Anthony adds.

“I hope that you’re not sad,” Joshua says. “But in case you are, we decided to throw a party for you! Because you’re so good!”

Crowley is feeling entirely too many emotions for his shriveled demonic heart. He sets his burden aside— somewhere, he doesn’t hear anything break so he assumes they’re okay— and bends over to scoop his children into his arms, holding them up to his face. They cuddle up against his cheeks and reassuringly lick his nose, and he wills away his tear ducts because he can feel them filling up with Betrayal Liquid.

“Happy Snake Day,” Coco says. “Thank you for being such a good dad and snake.”

“You’re welcome kiddos,” Crowley rasps, and curses his voice for turning on him once again. But somehow, the children seem to understand: instead of wiggling happily, they simply curl up against him, the closest thing to a hug they can offer.

Aziraphale approaches him then, holding a bottle of what Crowley can already see is his favorite Scotch. At least there’s one person in this bookshop who knows what Crowley actually likes.

“Happy Snake Day, my dear,” Aziraphale says softly.

And it is.


End file.
